Gentle as water sliding down your face,
A voice like a bell.
A smile as delicate as a rose,
But as strong as an eagle.
Hands and arms with ink scribbled over them like tattoos.
Hair like a sunset.
Eyes as soft as silk.
That’s you, Moth.
Posted in response to the challenge Simile.
When someone is sick, we say they're on Death's doorstep.
But aren't we always?
People always act like we're so far away from death.
But really we're not.
Justice must be served.
The man who shot her must pay the price.
Doesn’t matter if he was scared or not, she didn’t deserve this.
Nobody does.
That man needs to be brought to justice.
Who am I?
I don’t even know anymore.
I’ve shed the person I once was in favor of a new one.
Yet, I’m still that person.
I’m both at once and neither.
So who am I?
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